


The makings of a good Hallowe'en

by thefatesallow (comewhatmay)



Category: Glee
Genre: Halloween!Klaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comewhatmay/pseuds/thefatesallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So what if Kurt doesn't actually remember most of the first New York Hallowe'en Party he was invited to. So what if his classmates probably have a sex tape starring him and his fiance. The important thing is he wanted his First New York Hallowe'en With Blaine to be the amazing. And that's exactly what it was.</p>
<p>Plus, they looked really hot in their costumes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The makings of a good Hallowe'en

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Halloween!Klaine fanart by geminico! No spoilers for any future episodes. This fic is set sometime in the vague Blaine-is-in-NYC future. Hope you enjoy! xx

There are some cliched romantic couple things that always make Kurt go moon-eyed and dreamy. Surprise flowers. Serenades in public. Picnic in a park. Slow-dancing at Prom.

There is one that he's particularly wanted since he was about eight years old.

Hallowe'en couple costumes.

When Blaine had agreed to be the Situation to his Snooki last year, Kurt pretty much burst a blood vessel from excitement. Going trick-or-treating with his boyfriend, wearing co-ordinating costumes, knowing he was displaying to the world without any trace of doubt that they were a  _thing_ , that they were a package deal, that they were  _together_ _together_.

It made Kurt all hot and bothered like nothing else. And it didn't help that Blaine looked  _particularly_  ravishable with all that golden skin of his arms on taunting display...

Yeah, Hallowe'en was  _good_  last year.

But Kurt Hummel is nothing if not ambitious and constantly driven to do one  _better_. And if being boyfriends in Lima, Ohio for Hallowe'en was  _that_  good, he is determined that being fiancés in New York City for Hallowe'en is going to be mind-blowingly, brain-numbingly  _fantastic_.

When he gets an invite to a Hallowe’en party thrown by one of the guys in his voice-acting class, he spends the entire day vibrating with excitement. And spends the entire next week trying to find the  _perfect_ couple costume.

He and Blaine brainstorm about it every night at the loft while they cook dinner or cuddle on the sofa or do their skin-sloughing regimen together. Rachel and Santana pointedly put on ear-plugs whenever they start talking about it but yeah whatever. _They're_ both just jealous neither of  _them_  got invited anywhere for Hallowe'en night, while Kurt's totally going to a _legit_ New York college party, as one-half of a couple costume with his super-hot _fiancé_.

Kurt is almost jealous of himself. His life is  _perfect_. It may even be more perfect than his hair and his excellent skin complexion.

He finds  _THE_  costumes totally by accident on the Saturday before Hallowe’en.

He goes out for a lunch date with Blaine. They scheduled it that morning essentially to “decide on a costume” since the party is just a few days away.

Kurt fully planned to utilize the entire lunch date into costume-deciding. He really did. But Blaine ruined all his plans by looking so _pretty_ when he walked out of the music store where he works part-time, cardigan rolled up to his elbows and bowtie undone, hair gently curling out of its gel.

They spend most of their “lunch” date making out against an alley-wall a block down from the music store, inviting a lot of exasperated-fond eyerolling from the population of New York.

Neither a lunch nor any costume-finalizing has occurred by the end of the hour. But Kurt has Blaine pinned up against a wall of questionable cleanliness in a dubious alley, Blaine moaning into his mouth while they trade fast-dirty kisses, so he honestly does not give a damn.

He grabs a muffin on his way back to Vogue.com and skips up to his cubicle, still able to smell Blaine on his clothes and taste Blaine on his lips. He feels at harmony with everything happy in the entire universe.

The harmony with happiness diminishes a little when he finds his entire excuse for an office completely obscured behind five large cardboard boxes.

He has just opened one of them with an annoyed sigh when Isabelle pops out.

“Kurt!” she calls, walking towards him. “The costume department should be here to collect it in an hour, we just needed to put these somewhere out of the way till then. You can work in my office until they clear it out!”

Kurt pulls out a garment from one of the boxes he just opened and stares at it. It’s a pair of bright red short-shorts. _Really_ short short-shorts.

And the first thing his brain does is imagine Blaine in them.

He clears his throat and straightens a little, trying to avoid popping a boner in the middle of his workplace with his boss standing right in front of him.

“Um, what are they for?” he asks, unable to keep a blush from colouring his cheeks as he looks at the shorts again.

Isabelle has a knowing smirk on her face that makes him blush even more.

“We were supposed to help shoot a music video with background dancers in angel and devil costumes,” she says. “But the artist changed his mind so these costumes are pretty much useless. We’re sending them to storage.”

Oh. If they aren’t needed anyway…

Angel and Devil may be a clichéd and much-used costume choice. But these are professionally made outfits and _Blaine in those short-shorts._

Isabelle is still smirking. “Weren’t you saying something about you and your cutie still needing a Hallowe’en costume?” she asks knowingly.

Kurt bites his lip as he pulls out another garment and holy shit, it’s a pair of fishnet stockings, sheer and black and ending in red-velvet garters. His face is on fire now.

“Um, yeah,” he manages, voice rougher than usual.

Isabelle flat-out laughs.

“Help yourself to a pair from these, Kurt,” she says, grinning cheekily. “I’m sure Blaine won’t mind seeing you in that angel costume either.”

She tinkles out another laugh, sashaying away.

Kurt pulls out the angel costume and stares. It’s pure-white, semi-translucent and floor-length, with intricate cross-tying and a cowl. At first glance it appears to completely cover a person, but then Kurt notices the intricate maze of clever rips and intentional tears in the robe that, when he wore it, would show tantalizing flashes of skin _everywhere_ , every time he moved.

It would drive Blaine _crazy_.

Perfect.

*

They almost miss the party taking too long to get into their costumes.

It just _doesn’t_ help matters that they both find each other so blindingly hot in their respective costumes that they keep pausing every ten seconds to make out against any available surface.

Maybe Kurt chose the costumes a little _too_ well.

Blaine’s a vision in skin-tight red leotard, paired with those really short short-shorts and shiny red knee-high boots. And then there are the fishnet stockings.

_The fishnet stockings_.

They lose twenty solid minutes of getting-ready time when Blaine first steps out wearing them and Kurt takes one heated look before pouncing hungrily. The same process is repeated when Blaine first catches sight of Kurt’s entire exposed right leg and midriff when two of the strategic rips in the angel outfit incidentally part at the same time.

They finally manage to pull apart, after forty-five minutes of intense making out, to get into their full costumes properly and get the make-up done.

Kurt deftly shadows his eyes with cerulean-blue and lines it with silver, glittering up his body for a shimmery effect. Blaine tames his hair into rakish curls and sticks the little devil horns into it with a flourish.

Once Kurt’s satisfied with his own make-up, he goes to accent Blaine’s eyes in dramatic black and gold eyeliner. He follows it up with red mascara, curling the stick through Blaine’s lashes with a deep sigh.  Blaine’s eyelashes are just so long and thick and ridiculously pretty. _Blaine_ is so ridiculously pretty.

And he is Kurt’s.

_Kurt’s_ Blaine, who just stands there with his eyes closed, humming happily, face tilted up to him with that sweet, content little smile, never more angelic than in that moment wearing a devil’s costume.

Kurt’s entire _being_ sighs. God, he loves this boy so much.

He finishes up on the last touch of Blaine’s makeup and kisses his nose to let him know it’s done. Blaine opens his eyes and stares up at Kurt with a huge grin, eyes sparkling multihued beneath the stunning red-gold-black lining them.

Kurt moves back a little and stares.

Blaine looks… really hot. Like, really _really_ hot.

He’s always attractive to Kurt, there’s never a moment where Kurt _doesn’t_ want him in every way but right now… _Eyeliner_.

Kurt should get him to wear eyeliner every day.

He pounces forward, fully intending to initiate another forty-five minute make-out. But the screen door to his makeshift room parts with a rattle and Santana steps in, interrupting them.

Kurt pulls back and turns to stare at Santana, who has a lascivious smirk trained on them.

“Well don’t stop on my account, I’m really enjoying the show,” Santana drawls, her smirk turning more wicked, if that’s even possible. “Also your costumes? _Wanky_. I’d have thought Hummel would be the one in fishnets because boy has _grrrreat_ legs, but surprisingly, your hobbity legs aren’t half-bad in those, Frodo. You both look almost hot and not like you poop rainbow glitter. I’m stunned.”

“Thanks, Santana,” Blaine says with a grin, and he actually means it, the goof. Kurt eyerolls when Santana makes them pose for a second so she can snap a picture of them on her phone. And then screeches when he sees the time because damn, they needed to have left thirty minutes ago.

They get to the party fashionably late enough to make an entrance. People turn to stare at them when they pass and Kurt preens. They make a very hot couple and he _knows_ it.

The night goes only up from there.

They get smashed out of their wits. The invitation extended to them crashing for the night if they so needed and Kurt and Blaine already decided to take full advantage of that. Kurt takes a dozen shots of questionably-coloured drinks and feels a pleasant buzz thrumming through his veins. Blaine has been alternating between giggling adorably and draping himself all over Kurt whispering dirty things for the past hour. They do a couple of body shots which devolve into sloppy-drunk-hot make-outs that has some of Kurt’s classmates hooting at them.

Everything about the night goes hazy once they start dancing. Kurt vaguely remembers grinding up on Blaine in a way he most certainly wouldn’t be doing in public if he wasn’t this thoroughly sloshed and being enthralled by the play of flashing strobe lights on Blaine’s dramatically made-up eyes. Someone calls out to “get a room” and the last real thought Kurt remembers having is a mental exclamation on what a _great_ idea that is.

He wakes up with a pounding headache.

He stares up at the ceiling, sore and disoriented and groggy, and wonders briefly why he can hear a bunch of people giggling nearby while he’s still in bed and naked. And then scrambles upright with a squawk because there are a bunch of people giggling nearby while he is _still in bed_ and _naked_.

Kurt stares at what seems like one-fourth of his voice-acting class standing at the doorway of an unfamiliar room, gawking in at him while cackling and catcalling.

“What on earth –,” Kurt rasps out.

“Nice pecs, Kurt,” a girl calls out and a guy, who Kurt knows for sure is both straight and her boyfriend, wolf-whistles, grinning at Kurt and winking lecherously at his exposed chest.

Kurt lets out another squawk and yanks up the covers to his chin, his face is on _fire_.

“And great job snagging _that_ ohmygod,” another boy calls out, staring at something to Kurt’s right and fanning himself. “I _so_ wanna high-five you right now.”

Kurt follows his line of sight and nearly explodes from mortification. In pulling up the sheets to cover himself he must have dislodged them off of Blaine. His fiancé is passed out next to him with his bare ass (and the _hickeys_ on it dear god Kurt wants to _disappear_ ) on glorious display to most of Kurt’s voice-acting class.

With a noise that is probably only audible to bats, Kurt yanks the bed covers viciously so it completely covers both him and Blaine and he hears everyone burst into loud laughter.

Kurt hates his classmates.

He shuffles around inside the safe blanket-wall he’s made against prying eyes and kicks Blaine to wake him up, while trying to find his clothes. Blaine simply snuffles into the pillows and burrows deeper into the bed and Kurt lets out a huff of hysterical frustration.

He has no recollection of _how_ they even came about to removing their clothes and getting here, no idea where their costumes might be. Oh dear god, what if he and Blaine just started stripping at the dance floor and dropped a piece of clothing the whole way and he doesn’t even have his _underwear_ here and…?

His hands find a pair of shorts near his right foot and Kurt shimmies into them while still trying to stay completely hidden under the covers, almost crying in relief. Blaine snuffles some more and moans loudly and Kurt rolls over next to him amidst a new outbreak of giggles and wolf-whistling from his damned classmates.

“Blaine,” Kurt hisses, shaking him roughly. “Blaine, wake up oh my god.”

Blaine comes awake with a snort and groans again, running a hand over his face.

“Kurt,” Blaine moans loudly, and Kurt’s poor hungover head _throbs_ in protest. “I know you’re always feisty in the mornings but I really don’t feel up to giving you a blowjob right now.”

“Oh my god stop talking,” Kurt clamps a hand over Blaine’s mouth, face aflame. “Three-fourth of my year just saw your naked butt and I think we had sex in front of half of NYADA and I need to fall in front of a bus to escape the utter mortification I feel right now, so will you _please_ just get up and _put some clothes on_ so we can get out of here already?”

Blaine is just staring at him with his eyes wide open, uncomprehending, and makes movements towards trying to lower the blanket-fort Kurt still has meticulously propped up, shielding both of them.

“Stop,” Kurt hisses and _seriously_. Blaine is like The Walking Braindead in the mornings till he gets his hands on some coffee and hairgel. “They already saw your butt, I am _not_ going to let them see your co–“

“Aw, let him out Kurt,” someone hoots from The Other Side. “He seemed pretty into showing off last night.”

Blaine makes a noise like a trodden puppy, horrified eyes wide as dinner plates. A dull blush is sweeping up his cheekbones and despite everything, Kurt feels a moment of hunger. Tousled, sleep-rough, blushing, early-morning Blaine is just so very lovely and delicious. But then there’s another hoot from the onlookers (and why are those damn people _not leaving_ already don’t they have _manners_?!?!) and Kurt springs into action again, carefully letting one arm out from the blanket-fort, searching the floor near the bed for clothing.

“Put some clothes on!” he whisper-shouts, shoving whatever his hand finds at Blaine.

“But this is _your_ costume –,” Blaine starts but Kurt hisses “Doesn’t matter, just put it on ohmygod,” in reply and they both cover themselves as best as they can, bumping elbows and knees trying to still stay covered under the blankets, scrabbling the floor carefully in search of more articles of clothing.

Kurt finally steps out of the bed wearing a leotard over really short short-shorts and fishnet stockings, his face as bright red as his boots. Blaine’s flashing one shoulder and most of his right leg, the fabric parting dangerously close to his groin as he stumbles upright off the bed. One of the little red devil-horns is still stuck in his curls.

There seem to be even _more_ people than before, all of them watching avidly while snorting with laughter and some of them _have their phones out_ , recording everything.

Kurt has lost all faith in humanity.

He straightens his spine, tilting up his chin in disdain at his _cultureless_ classmates and loops an arm through Blaine’s, who distinctly resembles a deer caught in the headlights at that moment.

“We are leaving now,” Kurt says as superiorly as he can manage with sex hair and hickeys and the knowledge that everyone present probably heard him having sex, and sweeps regally forward, leading Blaine with a death-grip.

A girl snaps a picture to his right and giggles as she says “Oh, Santana’s going to _love_ this.”

Kurt’s regal superiority sputters and fails.

“What?” he asks in horror.

“Santana,” the girl smirks evilly. “She’s in my dance class. She paid me to get pictures and videos of you both all _night_. I’ve been keeping her updated.”

Yep, it’s official. Kurt just wants to die now.

When they get back to the loft, Santana nearly asphyxiates from laughing herself silly at the two of them.

Kurt sniffs. He is surrounded by idiots.

“Speak _one_ word,” he tells her icily. “and I’ll set all your clothes on fire.”

Santana rolls over with fresh peals of laughter, seemingly incapable of forming coherent words even if she were to dismiss Kurt’s threat. Blaine’s still blushing and doing a cornered-Bambi impersonation.

Kurt huffs in annoyance and takes hold of Blaine, drags him to their corner of the loft, closing the screens behind them with threatening finality. Santana’s laughter still floats in.

“I’m so embarrassed I think I’m dying,” Blaine moans, dramatically flopping face down on their bed.

“ _I’m_ the one who has to go to _class_ with those people,” Kurt grits out, shimmying out of Blaine’s leotard. “This is so not what I had planned for our first New York Hallowe’en!”

Blaine turns to face Kurt, a placating-fond smile replacing the crushing mortification oh his face.

“Hey,” Blaine says, eyes sparkling up at him sweetly, holding out a hand for Kurt and every defensive-rigid muscle in Kurt’s body loosens. How does Blaine even _do_ that, with just one look, one smile?

Kurt moves forward and takes his hand, climbs into bed next to him, settles closer to him.

“Hey,” Blaine says. “I know it wasn’t exactly optimal and it definitely could’ve been _much_ less embarrassing, but I still had the best night I could’ve imagined. It was the best night because it was with _you_.”

He smiles at Kurt and Kurt smiles back, he can’t _help_ it. Blaine says these things that a small part of Kurt still can’t believe are for him and Blaine gives him these looks that never fail to set Kurt’s heart aflutter and Kurt doesn’t understand how Blaine is _real_ sometimes, how Blaine is _his_ to cherish and love. Forever.

Blaine can always get a smile out of him, because there are always a million reasons to smile when he has _Blaine_.

“And not everyone can be lucky enough to have their First New York Hallowe’en caught on tape forever,” Blaine says, eyes crinkling mischievously. “It’ll make excellent footage for when we make an autobiographical video tribute to show at our Sixtieth Anniversary.”

“Yes, Blaine, because we really want to traumatize our grandkids by showing them videos of us grinding on a dance floor and the hickeys on your bare ass,” Kurt deadpans and Blaine starts giggling into the pillow.

He still has a devil horn stuck in his head, the perfect, beautiful _idiot_.

Kurt rolls on top of him and kisses him happily and Blaine kisses back, smiling widely into the kisses, giggling into Kurt’s mouth.

The fishnets are digging into Kurt’s thigh and Blaine’s mouth tastes like stale alcohol and they can still hear Santana hiccupping with laughter outside and its highly possible most of Kurt’s college is currently watching a sex tape of him and his fiancé.

And Kurt can say this, with complete conviction – Best Hallowe’en _ever_.


End file.
